


Helkie

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Universe, Dean Hates Dogs, Dogs, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Hellhounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 09:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11227893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: Dean has a bit of a history with Yorkies and hellhounds.





	Helkie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zetal (Rodinia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodinia/gifts), [purgatoan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purgatoan/gifts).



It wasn't truly Dean's fault, after all. Unless you believed in kismet, and even that was a bit of a stretch. So he had once lied about having a little Yorkie dog who got nervous, while trying to distract a firefighter. So what? What hadn't he lied about over the years? It was as much a part of the job as salting and burning something you didn't want to become a problem in the future. So when Sam had smirked at him and asked what the hell Dean had ever done to deserve being perpetually plagued by the little shits, Dean had only been able to think of the one instance when he had invoked the creatures voluntarily, and he had dismissed that out of hand.

And out of hand was where the whole thing was at this point.

The incident when he had contracted ghost sickness was one of those moments that Sam was never allowed to mention. Punishment for doing so included merciless ribbing about how pitiful his kid brother had been when in possession of the cursed rabbit’s foot. On top of that, Dean had immediately regretted telling RoboSam about almost shooting a Yorkie while affected by the djinn. On the other hand, he thought Sam had shown admirable restraint when Dean had become an honorary dog himself, and there had been that rotten little informant at the pound. Probably because neither of them wanted to remember Sam having to give the guy a belly rub until his hand cramped. That was best put out of mind altogether. Forever.

Yorkies were little shits. They weren't even dogs. They were jerks.

Then there were hellhounds, and Dean wouldn't ever have to wonder what he had done to deserve them, since it had been an explicit part of a contract sealed with the most nauseating kiss he had ever experienced. Even before that, when they had run into the folks meeting their ten year literal deadline, Dean had been able to think of nothing but his father's deal to save him, and the beasts had seemed to be breathing down his neck as much as those other poor idiots. Then the next time he encountered them, they were after him personally, had torn his soul from his shredded body and delivered it to its destiny. Then it had been Jo, and Ellen, and no matter what Meg had done in her last year, part of him would never forgive that, any more than he could forgive the possession of Sam years before. Of course, Meg had been the one to save them from the hellhounds while they were on the mission to retrieve Sam's soul. Hellhounds had come for Gunner Lawless, and the child in him had died a little with him. And there was Crowley’s weird relationship with the things, Juliet and Ramsey as two sides of a messed up coin. And it had been a damn hellhound that had started Sam on those trials that nearly destroyed him, then a hellhound that had taken Eileen, who he knew his kid brother was falling in love with, the best chance Sam had ever had in his life to be happy, with a hunter.

That creepy-ass pitbull bitch Portia was right. Generally speaking, the Colonel and his pack notwithstanding, Dean did not like dogs. And Yorkies and hellhounds had a very special place of loathing in his heart.

So when Crowley had come looking to cash in his chits, Dean had tried to tell him where he could safely store those imaginary chits. Sam simply rolled his eyes, and began to laugh.

“It's as much for you as for me!” the King was babbling.

Dean wasn't hearing anything the limey bastard had to say at this point. “If you don't get that thing away from me-”

Sam was still smirking when he jumped in. “Crowley, look. Much as I hate to say it, you were better than useless last time we needed help. And that's why we didn't kill you. Every time you help us, we don't stab you in the brain. It's a good arrangement. Don't force your luck.”

Crowley's glare was filled with exasperation. “I don't think you're understanding the potential here.”

Dean shook his head. “I don't think I care. Yeah, no. Don't care.”

The King shifted the invisible weight in his arms. “How can you say no to this? Moose! I thought you loved all creatures great and terrible!”

“It's great and small, Crowley, and no. I draw the line at hybrid hellspawn.”

“The entire point is that it isn't hell’s spawn! You infuriating, overgrown rodents! This is an entirely new species! Have you no scientific curiosity, you ingrates?”

Dean was staring at the bundle he couldn't see. “Why haven't we stabbed it yet?” he asked his brother.

“I don't know why we haven't stabbed him yet,” Sam pointed out.

Dean was having trouble with that too, at the moment. “What's your real angle, Crowley?”

The bearded demon gnashed his teeth in frustration, then sighed. “It's just a puppy,” he ground out.

Sam's eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry. What? Did his majesty, king of assholes, just say he felt sorry for a puppy?”

Crowley made no secret with his expression that he was considering making a pincushion out of the big hunter. “It's just a puppy,” he said again. “The others will kill it.”

“Others who?” Dean sighed.

“The other hounds,” Crowley snapped. “It's part freaking Yorkshire, you blasted-”

“Yeah, not helping your case by reminding him of that.”

Green eyes locked with hazel gray. “Sammy?”

He shrugged. “Your call, dude. I'm not against stabbing it or Crowley, but it technically hasn't done anything wrong, and weren't we just trying to tell the Brits that being evil is more than just being monstrous? That it's not what you are but what you do that determines whether we'll hunt you.” Sam smirked. “On the other hand, Crowley has killed half the people we've ever met. I say we kill him, and keep the puppy.”

Dean groaned. “How does this even happen, man? A Yorkie-hellhound hybrid?”

Crowley moved his glare from Sam to Dean. “Happens more than you think. It's just the first time I ever got my hands on a cambian pooch before its aunts and uncles ripped it into chow. The moment I walk out this bunker door with it, it becomes prey.”

“So order your pack to stand down!”

“This is instinctive. They won't be listening to any commands at that point. For that matter, even other Yorkshires would try to kill the thing, though they'd be little match for-”

“We’ll take it.”

Both Crowley and Sam turned to stare at him.

“We will?”

“You will?”

Dean smiled wickedly. “You said when it's full-grown in a month or so, it won't need us anymore.”

“That's true. It'll be able to hide itself. No one but I could track it at that point, not even my Juliet.”

Sam watched Dean. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking this little shit is the bane of every Yorkie and hellhound on the planet, and I will be happy to take care of it till it's ready to go piss off its family on both sides.”

His brother was laughing again. “And what if it's inherently evil?”

“We stab it. But till then, we train it to be a hunter’s helper.”

Crowley frowned. “They are eminently trainable, if the right care is taken to-”

“We can't even see it.”

“We got glasses. Sam, this is revenge on every-”

Sam put his enormous hands up. “Okay! Okay, I got it. Here.” He took hold of the bundle awkwardly. Immediately, his eyes softened. “Dude. It's like the littlest monster ever.”

Dean nodded. “What do you call it?”

Crowley brushed his hands on his trousers. “A pain in the ass, but a cute little beast. Name it yourself.”

Sam looked ridiculous holding up an invisible puppy to consider its name. “Cambie?”

“Fine,” Dean snapped tiredly. He pointed a finger at his brother. “You get to work teaching Cambie not to pee on our stuff. And you-”

But Crowley was gone.

Dean sighed. “We’re going to regret this.”

Sam performed his most flawless bitchface to date, as a wet spot appeared on his chest. “I already do.”

Finally, it was Dean's turn to laugh. That didn't happen around dogs much.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by @purgatoan who wrote some lovely fluff about hellhound puppies on Tumblr, called Salt and Burn.


End file.
